Kiss of Death
by childoftheasylum
Summary: Slight AU in which Sylar realizes how effective working with a partner is (from his experiences with Mohinder S1) and decides to take on one of his own. Of course, I own neither Heroes, nor any of its characters.
1. Chapter 1

It was about six-thirty in the afternoon and darkness was beginning to turn the sky a deep shade of purple. Mr. Sam Madison had noticed that business in his small restaurant was slow. In fact, there had been little to no business at all that day outside of a few regulars stopping by for a small cup of coffee. Of course, there was seldom large business during weekdays, especially in that suburban town of Brittany, where most preferred a name-brand cup over a cup from a local business. Besides, Mr. Madison had expected a slow day. Actually, he was thinking of closing shop early. He'd even told his daughter that morning of his expecting a slow day. Perhaps they'd go to the bookstore, he had told her. Anything to get that nuisance off his back. Tomorrow, being Saturday, would be a good work day, anyway. But in the time it took him to make up his mind, another customer came in, and he put the thought aside. Mr. Madison got up from his current spot at the bar and put down the section of the newspaper he had been reading.

The customer, he noticed, had been in his restaurant a few times before. He usually had at least a cup of coffee every time he visited, but occasionally he'd try something new if Mr. Madison pushed him far enough. It wasn't exactly his face that Mr. Madison had recognized. Actually, it would be hard for Mr. Madison to point him out in a crowd. Everything about him was dark, understated. What Mr. Madison could point out, however, was the same broken watch he saw him wearing every time he came into the restaurant. Why he would choose to constantly wear something that was broken was beyond Mr. Madison; he simply assumed it had belonged to a dead relative or girlfriend and left it alone. When he first began visiting the restaurant, the man didn't say much. He'd order something, pay, and leave, nothing more. As the visits became more frequent, they began making small talk. Before long, Mr. Madison knew him, no longer as "the new guy", but Gabriel, though, unbeknownst to him, he was known to others by the name of Sylar. But Gabriel was friendly enough. Mr. Madison still didn't know him very well, but he knew enough to be cordial. Mr. Madison picked up a laminated menu and coffee mug and began walking towards Gabriel's usual spot in the corner near the register. He placed the items down on the table, marveling to himself at how unusually quiet his customer was today. Instead of making conversation as he usually did, he just watched Mr. Madison set his table. It was making Mr. Madison uncomfortable, and, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. People didn't usually make him that uncomfortable, and Gabriel was no stranger.

"Will I be able to talk you into something to eat today?" he said, meeting his eyes. He kept his eyes locked with Gabriel's, not out of interest, but fear. There was something he saw that, for some reason, had him afraid to look away.

"To be honest, that's not why I'm here." That definitely caught Mr. Madison off guard. He and Gabriel weren't friends. Calling them acquaintances would have even been a stretch.

"What do you need, then?" he asked, trying but failing to hide the nervousness in his voice. "You selling something? Job application? What is it?" Mr. Madison's eyes darted nervously to the bar. There was a panic button behind the counter in case of robberies, and while he hated to write Gabriel off as a criminal, he had to consider what he thought to be the worse case scenario.

"What I need, Sam, is your power." Mr. Madison paused, confused, unsure and afraid. He knew nothing about Gabriel, and yet, somehow he knew too much about Mr. Madison. He knew things Mr. Madison couldn't tell his wife, let alone strangers.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, offering a pathetic attempt of a laugh along with it. What he hoped would sound nonchalant only came off sounding forced and dry, and was followed by an uncomfortable cough. He began to wince, but stopped himself from adding to the embarrassment.

"It's pretty obvious that you do," Sylar said, standing. He took two steps forward; Mr. Madison took two steps back. It repeated. And then it repeated again. It was turning into a game for which, usually, Sylar had no patience. Actually, he may have ended it then, had it not been for the one customer who came in after him. There was a brief moment of hesitation: Mr. Madison didn't know whether or not to ask for help and Sylar considered killing them both. Strangely, though, the interruption seemed tolerable to Sylar, so he allowed himself to dangle the chance of escape in front of Mr. Madison. There was a second or two of eye contact before he reached behind Mr. Madison, picked up some silverware, and sat back down. Mr. Madison took it as permission to leave and picked up a mug and menu for the new customer. It was a semi-regular, Thomas, who stopped by occasionally if he wasn't pressed for time. Mr. Madison took an order and gave him a drink, even nodded and responded to his attempts at conversation. Really, though, he wasn't listening. He considered asking Thomas to call the police. It didn't have to be verbally. He could leave a note on his check. But what good would that do if he was dead by the time Thomas left the building? Mr. Madison therefore decided that his best option was to stall. What for he wasn't sure, but perhaps he could create a plan in the meantime. Mr. Madison began to pick Thomas' brain about whatever he could come up with. They discussed anything and everything from final scores of sports he didn't give a damn about to stocks of companies he knew nothing about. And when Thomas felt he had both filled up his stomach and poured out his knowledge, he left, completely unaware of the scene he had been involved in. Mr. Madison took his time cleaning the table, carrying each piece individually and with special care. Sylar watched the whole scene in amusement. He just kept going back and forth, carrying things like crumpled napkins as if they were made of glass. And after the table had been cleared and was clean enough to eat off of, Mr. Madison sighed and turned. Still there. "You're finished now? I'd hate to interrupt." Obscenities flowed from under Mr. Madison's breath. He should've left Thomas a note.

"What if I bargain with you?"

"I'll humor you," Sylar decided.

"My daughter. She has abilities; take her." Mr. Madison couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth. Surely not, he thought, hoped, prayed. The smirk that grew on Sylar's face proved him wrong. Did he actually…? Did he really?

"I have a feeling she might like to hear that from you." Mr. Madison shook his head. He opened his mouth but words wouldn't come out. He was too selfish. "Call it." He gestured towards the phone on the wall. Mr. Madison's legs began moving of their own accord. The things he'd do to save his own life. He couldn't remember dialing the number, and suddenly hearing his daughter's voice on the other end surprised him. He searched for words.

"Ariana."

"Yeah; what do you need?" she asked. It had taken her four "hello"s to get a single word out of him, and it was getting late. Out of the ordinary, especially on a slow day.

"I need you to—" The sentence was on the tip of his tongue and refused to finish itself.

"Dad?"

"Call the police."

"Why?" Her heart began to beat a bit harder. Nothing about this call sounded okay. None of it. "What's going on?" She didn't want to panic, but was running out of options. "I'm getting in the car. You're at work right?" She couldn't hear the echo of her voice on the phone anymore. She pulled her ear away from the receiver. The call was already over. She got up from her seat on the couch, picked up the car keys, and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Panic had created a thick, white haze around Ariana Madison's vision by the time she arrived at the restaurant. She hadn't called the police; she hadn't brought anything with her; even her cell phone was left at home. Of course she hadn't thought about what she would need. Panic often overrules logic. So it was because of that panic that she ran out of the car and into the restaurant unarmed and dangerously vulnerable. The bright white lights shocked her eyes and she struggled to adjust as she took small steps inside, looking around. There was little evidence of a struggle, as she much expected. On the drive to the restaurant, her mind had created wild scenarios of broken glass coating the floors, tables overturned, her father struggling for life whilst laying on the floor, his head resting in a pool of his own blood. And as much as she hated to admit it, the dark reality was this: She almost hoped something had happened to him. Of course, she definitely didn't wish that worst case on anyone, let alone her flesh and blood, but he hadn't exactly been nice to her, either. She continued her cautious trek through the dining area, watching for any aggressor. Or her father. The entire restaurant was immaculate, save for one table near the register, which wasn't unclean per se, but had a mug and menu still resting on it. Her heart sank when her roving eyes rested on the wall phone that hanged from its cord.

"Dad?" she called.

"Who's there?" A voice called out to her in response from the back and was accompanied by the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. Sylar came out of the back to meet her, wearing the mask of a terrified Gabriel. "Who are you?" he asked through short, panicked breaths.

"The guy who owns this place is my father," she said. "Who are you? Where's my dad?" He took a step closer to her and she stepped away, still cautious, still afraid.

"It's okay; I was here," he said, backing away in response. "I mean, your dad, he was- I saw it happen." Gabriel seemed to struggle for words hidden in emotion. "He shot him; I saw it." For a few short moments, Ariana's mind failed to process the words. It wouldn't allow her to understand it, as if there was something within her trying to prevent her from feeling sadness. When it finally hit her, however, there was no such mercy. The realization hit her hard and suddenly and brought with it a plethora of conflicting emotions that dropped her to her knees. It didn't take long for the tears to soon follow. Her body shook with every breath and more tears forced their way out. It just didn't seem possible. "He's dead. I'm sorry." The voice was Gabriel's- soft, smooth, and consoling- but the mask was gone, and in no way did Sylar's cold features match the warmth of his words. She was terribly pathetic and terribly vulnerable, crumpled on the floor and swimming in emotion. She felt a hand settle on her shoulder consolingly. "Come on," he said, gently tugging on her shoulder. Ariana reached over to her shoulder to grab Sylar's hand to support herself. She had only briefly brushed his hand when she felt a strange chill shoot up her arm. She yanked her hand away quickly. It was strange. Actually, it merited serious concern. But she tried to brush the sensation aside. "Problem?" he asked, his voice now devoid of that warmth and concern she'd heard from Gabriel. She shook her head, refusing to make eye contact.

"No," she whispered. She returned her hand to Sylar's. The sensation returned, stronger this time. The longer she gripped his hands, the stronger the chill became, until she recognized it. She felt death.

It had been months since she last used that ability-sensing and controlling life. It was something she tried not to use. Death was a dark, ominous thing. While some did their best to ignore its existence, Ariana found that she could sense it very easily. The feeling she got touching Sylar reminded her of that fact all too well. For some reason, however, that dark chill was much stronger than it usually was. She had been around friends that had lost a pet or family member and could feel traces of the death, but this time, the feeling was overwhelmingly strong. She let him continue to help her up before pulling her hand away and stepping back quickly- a little too quickly in Sylar's opinion. She still refused to look directly in his eyes. She was gradually feeling more wary of him.

"What was he trying to say to me earlier?" she asked suddenly. "I know you were there. Do you know what he meant?" There was a long pause. Ariana took a careful step away.

"He was going to trade your life for his." The words came out intentionally cold. "He was about to die and was willing to sell you. A bargain."

"What?" she said. Her voice was a raspy whisper. "He was going to let them...kill me instead?" Sylar put on an amused smile. He stepped closer to her until she could feel his breath on her forehead. He held her face in his hands and brought it up to face him. Her heart was pounding. The chilling sensation grew where his fingers met her face and spread through to her own fingertips. He leaned in and let his lips brush her ear as he spoke to her.

"Not kill you, Ariana," he said. "Use you. Take your power and make you into a weapon."

"You killed him," she murmured. "You killed him."

"And as horrible as it sounds, his dying wish was that I take you as I planned."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said, removing herself from his touch. "I don't know who you think you are, but I don't have to do a thing for you."

"You think I'm asking for permission." His hand reached out for her and she suddenly found herself without air. "I'm not."


End file.
